Secret Shame: Hidden Actions
by Still-Unique
Summary: Lucas is having a rough day and deals with it the only way he knows how. Please read warning. This is a repost under a different name.


WARNING: This fic should be read with caution. This fic deals with self injury. It may be disturbing or triggery for some people. Please do not read this if you are not safe. The fic also has some adult language. 

AN: The primary title came from one of the most comprehensive sites about self injury on the web. I urge anyone who is living with self injury or who wishes to know more about self injury to visit this site. 

Secret Shame: Hidden Actions

Lucas sat huddled in the corner of the storeroom shaking. The room was not in use anymore so he had made himself a little hide out among the empty boxes. It was quiet here with just him and the pillows and his old teddy bear…and the knife. He tried not to look at it but it was staring at him, calling to him. He shouldn't have gotten it out but here it was and he could not put it away. 

'Stupid, you shouldn't have come here,' he told himself. 

'Where else was there to go,' he replied. 'Tony's in our room and there's no where else I can be alone.'

'You're unsafe. You shouldn't be alone.'

'I can't deal with other people right now either. I'd rather take my chances here.'

'You're going to cut. Two weeks down the drain and it's just going to be you to blame.' Lucas buried his face in his teddy bear. 

'Great. I'm sitting here feeling my sanity slipping through my fingers and I'm having an argument with myself. God, I'm so fucked up.'

The worse thing was that it was all true. It was unsafe for him to be alone right now but he could not bring himself to be around people. The past month had been very stressful with a lot of high priority projects culminating at the same time. He had been avoiding this room because he was afraid of how he would relieve that stress but today had been even worse. He'd spilt chemicals on him ruining his favorite shirt and Kristen had yelled at him for his clumsiness. Then he forgot to write up a report for the Captain and was grounded for it. He probably would have been all right if he could have popped into one of his chat rooms for a minute but now he was not allowed on the computer. Dinner had been the last straw. The table had been discussing a movie Tim and Miguel had watched on shore leave that involved a woman carving words into her thigh. The mental images had been too graphic for him and he rabbitted before he said or heard something that he would regret. 

His mind blanked allowing only the thought that he must escape from the room. He did not know how he had kept himself from running out of there. The next thing he knew he was sitting in the corner of his little room opening the lock on his toolbox. He froze as the lid flipped open revealing his prized knife. The silver gleamed showing off the razor-sharp edges. The knife was beautiful and precious to Lucas. It also symbolized everything he hated about himself. The sight of it triggered the urge to harm himself more than any description from a movie ever could. The urges brought tingles of anticipation and shame. 

He hated being this way seeking solace in a knife so he fought it. He refused to touch the knife because he did not want to use it on himself. He could not close the toolbox though because at the same time he did want to use it. The pressure built until it left him shaking and talking to himself. The need to cut himself grew ten fold until he was practically in tears. The longing and the shame battled within him tearing him apart. He wished that the struggle would end. He wished that one day he would be normal and not have this problem. He wished that he would die. 

It would be so simple to reach over and pick up the knife. It would drive the bad feelings away. It would counter the stress he was under allowing him to relax. He'd be able to smile and joke around for another day. No one would find out. He was in control of his actions. It was not like he would be doing any real harm. It would be easy. So much better than feeling like this. Sobbing, Lucas gave into the urges grasping the knife tightly in his hand. He was so weak!

Now angry with himself and doubly upset, there was nothing in Lucas to stop him from taking the knife to himself. He placed the edge against the pink scarred flesh of his upper arm. Butterflies in his stomach danced in anticipation. He tensed slightly as he pressed the knife into his arm but relaxed as he pulled the blade towards him gently opening the skin. Bright, red, blood oozed from the cut trickling down his arm. He felt a hint of satisfaction at this sight. It felt good to see the blood running down his arm. He had missed this feeling. Tension drained from him with every drop of blood that was released. Using a tissue, he dabbed at the blood and prepared to make the next cut. This one was as slow and methodical as the first one. He used the pain to judge the depth of the wound. When the pain began to be greater than the relief, he knew that he was cutting too deep. He quickly stopped and examined the wound. 

He sighed in relief when he saw that it was not deep enough to require stitches. He could not afford to have anyone find out about his secret past time even if it had needed stitches. He decided that he had better stop for the night. He felt better. The anger was gone and he was smiling as he tended to his wounds. The two cuts were minor compared to some of their predecessors. He gently ran his fingers over a couple of the pink, shiny scars that lined his upper arm. He was proud of them in a way. They showed all of the times he had managed to come through rough times. Their presence was oddly comforting. By time he was finished, the first cut had clotted. It was barely more than a scratch. He placed a band-aid over the second one and readied his area for him to leave. 

He saved the knife for last because he knew it would disturb him. He carefully wiped off the blood that stained its blade then used an alcohol swipe to disinfect it. Cleaned, it reminded him of his shame and guilt. Hurriedly, he put it away and collected the tissues to throw out in the trash. He wanted all evidence of his activity to vanish. Carefully, he made his way out of the storeroom and disposed of his trash without anyone seeing him. The sneaking around only furthered his sense of shame. It made him feel sick to his stomach that he had done these things to himself. It was gross and disgusting that something like this would make him feel better. 

'What kind of sick bastard am I?' he questioned to himself. 

He found no answer as he crawled into his bed in his cold dark room, shivering at the fact that he was glad that it was dark because there was no risk that Tony would see something he was not supposed to see. He hated being like this. He did not want to be gross and sick. It was not fun cutting himself but it helped when nothing else could. It worked and it was so very addicting. Sometimes he thought that maybe self injury was all he was. Perhaps he just existed to think about cutting himself and long to cut himself or fight the urge and think about fighting the urge. It was hard keeping this integral part of him hidden. They'd lock him away if he told anyone or think he was suicidal which he was not. He did not want anyone to know this shameful, horrible fact about him anyway. It was much better for them to think he was just normal, computer genius Lucas than to know his true self. 

The guilt and self hatred was welling up again preventing him from sleeping. He reached down and ran his hands along his thighs. He began to scratch them hard enough to hurt but not hard enough to draw blood. It did not count as self injury if he did not do any damage so this was safe. The sensation simulated cutting enough that it was able to draw away the shame and hatred long enough for him to fall asleep. His last thought was a promise that he always meant but had so far been unable to follow through with.

'This is the last time,' he  whispered to himself dozing off to sleep. 'I'm not going to cut myself anymore. This is not going to dominate my life forever.'


End file.
